


Tears, (and Angels), are God’s gift to us

by ivycross



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivycross/pseuds/ivycross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad hunt Dean has a break down and Castiel is there for him</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tears, (and Angels), are God’s gift to us

"Hey man, I'm heading to the store. You want anything?"

  
Dean's head jerks up from between his hands and he blinks.  Sam frowns at him, his brow knitted together with concern. After a beat, Dean just shakes his head. Sam nods and then he is gone from the room.  Dean lowers his head back into his hands as he hears Sam start up the Impala.

  
With a deep breath, Dean shivers. It had been a bad hunt. Not bad in that they were not successful. They had gotten the monster and finished it, but it had been messy.  This was a new monster, for them anyways, something that had come from overseas and it was viscous. What's worse it consumed everything.

  
When he and Sam had managed to find the thing's lair, even they had been taken aback by the amassed bones and bodies. The creature had been gluttonous, wicked and had almost taken them down.  Afterward, they had salted and burned everything in sight. They left nothing to chance.

  
Now back in their hotel room, Dean is having trouble. He has seen death over and over again since he was a child. It's nothing new to him, but this time -- This time with everything else that has been happening, it is too much. There had been women with their stomachs torn open as the thing had feasted on their wombs. There had been men missing limbs and heads, just piled just any old way. And there had been children and Dean couldn't think too long about that. Especially the one child that had been hung up like a Christmas decoration, its bowels up like holly around the room.

  
Dead shivers again and blows out a breath that he hadn't realized he had been holding. He needs a distraction. He wants a drink, but that's why Sam had left, wasn't it? To buy some beer and stuff to make a salad.  Dean starts thinking that he should have asked for a salad too. After tonight, he doesn't want to eat meat of any kind.

  
Standing from the table, Dean shakes his head roughly and moves over to the bed. Some T.V might help. Maybe he will catch a rerun of Dr. Sexy?  Something about that man and his cowboy boots makes Dean very happy. Dean tries not to examine that too closely. He flops down on the bed and clicks on the tube.

 

The first thing that comes on screen is war coverage. Dean frowns and switches the channel. Different coverage of a different war.  Swearing, Dean changes the channel again. The surgery channel and they are doing an organ transplant on a small boy.

  
"Oh God," Dean mutters and turns the T.V off.  He stands from the bed and run his fingers through his hair. He paces the room and mutters to himself. His mind starts replaying things, not just what happened that night, but other nights and other hunts. So much death. It seems to follow him and Sam everywhere.

  
Before he knows what is happen, He's crying. Small quiet drops that swiftly roll down his cheeks. Frustrated, he wipes his face with the back of his hand and swears. He chides himself.  In his mind, his father speaks his disapproval. This does not have the desired effect.

  
The tears come faster, wetter, and are paired with a runny nose.  "What the fuck," Dean sobs as he moves into the bathroom. He blows his nose and splashes water on his face, for all the good it does. The tears still come and they are no longer single drops. They are now running rivers of bitter salt water that show no signs of stopping.

  
Dean sits on the lid of the toilet and looks down at the floor. There in a bloody heap are his and Sam's clothes they had worn on the hunt. Dean stares at the stiff, red-brown cloth and something inside him brakes.

  
He takes one long deep breath and he lets out a howl. It is broken up with hitching breaths and his attempts to not let snot run down his face, but in the end, his sinus swelled shut and he can no longer inhale through his nostrils, so he just lets it run.  His face burns and there are visible streaks on his skin where the tears fall. His eyes, throat, and chest ache. When had he ever cried this hard? Not since he was a small child and his mother had comforted him.

  
At the thought of his mother, Dean freezes, his lips quivering and then he folds in two. He lands in the floor, his arms crossing over his chest, his knees coming up to meet his elbows.  Dean does not move, he just weeps.  He cries and moans and fights to breathe.

  
He is ashamed but a part of him doesn't care. Let Sammy find him like this. Let the image of his father in his mind scowl at him.  This is something he needs.

  
His whole body shakes as he is wracked with tears. He tries to breathe, but can't. He tries hard as a new sensation builds inside him.   _I can't breathe_ , his mind screams.  Panic seizes him and his sobs are replaced terrifying gasps.

  
_Oh God. Oh God help me. What's happening? Oh God, help!_

  
In his mind, Dean screams for help as his body responded to the adrenaline that is pumping through it.  There is a flapping of wings and suddenly there is the Angel of Thursday, Castiel.

  
He peers down at Dean and the normal passive face is locked in an expression of fear. "Dean? Dean,  what is happening to you?"  Castiel's rough voice is higher than it should be and the sound frightens Dean even more.

  
Castiel seems to peer around before he finally kneels down and touches his hand to Dean's forehead.  In an instant, Dean feels pure tranquility wash over him and all the tension that is in his body leave him. He lays there boneless as Castiel strokes his hair.

  
"Cas..." Dean says in a hoarse whisper. Castiel says nothing but runs his fingers through Dean's hair, his blue eyes intense and full of, Dean isn't sure, but could  be love.  Dean just shuts his eyes and remains silent, content to lay there with Castiel.

~*~

 

"Dean, I'm back," Sam calls through the open door. He is greeted by the sight of his brother laid out on one of the beds, his face blotchy and his eye red and puffy. Dean is asleep, snoring gently, his head nestled into the crook of Castile's arm. Castiel raises a finger to his rough lips and Sam nods.

Putting down the bags he holds in his hands, Sam quietly leaves the room only to find Castiel waiting for him outside.

"Whoa. You startled me," Sam takes a step back. Castiel simply nods, a small frown on his face.  Sam licks his lips. "What happened?" He asks softly.

"I do not know, but I heard Dean crying and asking for help, so I came."   Castiel peers at Sam whose face has twisted in puzzlement.

"Uh... Dean doesn't cry.  I mean, not like "cry" cry. You know?  Like he might shed a tear of two, but he never actually cries."  

Castiel nods again. "I will not comment to that, but I think I will stay with you two tonight."

Sam blinks, surprised. "Stay? Like here? In the room? With us? I don't..." Sam's voice trails off as he opens the door and peers back into the room.  That moment Dean looks so small as he shifts in his sleep, burying his face into a pillow.

Quietly shutting the door, Sam turns back to Castiel. "Yeah, that might be a good idea. Thank you,  Cas." Sam blinks and the angel is gone. He turns back around and looks inside the room.

Castiel is on the bed with Dean once again nestled in his arms. Dean throws an arm over Castiel's chest and snuggles into the angel's side. All the while, Castiel never takes his eyes off Dean and Sam see something there on the angel's face that warms his heart. He smiles and shuts the door again.

Yeah, he bought beer and dinner to have there in the room, but at that moment it seemed like a good idea to hit the local diner. The beer there is cheap enough and the salad isn't horrible, with enough dressing,  and as long as you pick out the tomatoes.  And ignore the brown lettuce and the soggy cucumbers. Okay, maybe he would have a chicken sandwich. He gets back into the Impala and as he drives away he smiles, muttering something under his breath about Dean and his angel.


End file.
